Gratitude as always is due to the brains behind the operation, Ang the Sweltering Celt.
Long, wavy hair tumbles, mussed, over a bare shoulder as she leans forward over the square of shiny, smooth paper in her slender hands. Corners of a sensuous mouth curve upward, the result of fond memories being replayed in a sharp mind. Shifting the paper entirely into one hand, she traces the curve of a long, strong, furred leg etched forever into photographic evidence.
Across town a long, strong, furred leg stretches under spartan sheets as a low, deep rumble emits from its owner’s throat and bare flesh invades the slumbering mind.
Good night, baby. Sweet dreams.